


burning on the edge

by Redburn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Smut, also Christmas makes an appearance, feat. bakeries and pottery painting and lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8704546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redburn/pseuds/Redburn
Summary: “I’d want to explore the ocean—see all of these parts of the world no one’s ever discovered.”
  “The ocean is terrifying.”   “And space isn’t? That shit is infinite, Keith. Infinite.” They meet. They strike up a friendship. But sometimes love hits where it hurts the most.





	

**Author's Note:**

> \- title from DJ Snakes "let me love you"  
> \- this is sort of in celebration of me landing a bakery job yay!  
> \- this story took so long? like this is the longest I've worked on a fic, it was really hard to get through (mostly because of doubts and such) so I hope it's better than I think it is lmao  
> \- it's also really cliche and I am so soRRY

It was a cold morning. The sun was only just starting to appear on the horizon; his breath was visible, small clouds brewing like magic in the space in front of him. He walked through the back door of his work, creaky and old, placing his bag on a lop-sided hook behind it.

“Keith – can you get those Danish’s out of the oven for me?”

Allura, his boss. He’d worked for her for a couple of years now, she was nice. Scary, but nice. He threw on an apron, pulling the baked goods out of the oven, the fruity smell making him scrunch his nose up. (He wasn’t big on sweet things).

“So,” Allura padded over, clapping her hands together to dust off some flour. “How’d the date go last night?”

“Mm,” Keith grunts, filling trays up, readying them to take to the front.

“Ah, not so good?”

“Hm.”

“Well,” she sighs, grabbing a tray and following Keith as he walks. “We’ll find you love Keith – don’t you worry.”

“M’not.”

“You say that _now_ —” she cut herself off when a regular came in, the familiar chime on the door going off. “Mrs. Rose, how are we this fine morning?”

The little old woman walked over slowly, eyes crinkling when she smiled. “Oh, my dear – I checked Roger’s pulse this morning in bed; he was so cold I thought he must have frozen during the night and _died_.” She joked.

Allura chuckled nervously. Keith thought old people were weird.

“The usual, then?” Allura smiles.

“Please, dear. And Roger will also have an extra cinnamon scroll today; he just loves them.”

Keith decided to busy himself out the back; Allura was much better with customers, anyway. It was brighter now, birds had begun to chirp, that hum of cars aiming to get to their destinations on time. He needed some coffee; they had a machine here, old but rustic. Mrs. Rose had left already, and Allura had started bagging yesterday’s bread, slapping on a cheaper price.

“Flour delivery today?” he asks her as he pours himself a cup.

Allura flushes slightly. “Uh, it’s Wednesday. So yes.”

Keith smirks, barely. “You should ask him today.”

“I--” she frowns, “Get back to work, you.”

Keith snorts, drinking his coffee; it burns his tongue as he does. He goes to fix a table that’s always wobbly, sticking some paper under a leg to steady it. The Paladin is a small bakery, but cosy. The walls were stitched with history; every customer that came in would have a story to tell.   

And despite the chill of the morning air outside, the bakery was nice and toasty. Sometimes it feels like a whole other world in here. They’re surrounded by alleyways; empty office buildings and wilted trees. But the bakery stands tall, like this staple of a home, and Keith wouldn’t have it any other way.

The door chimes again, swinging open and letting the cold creep in. A man walks in, cheeks tinted pink, a smile almost hidden behind a scarf.

Allura has disappeared, and so Keith tries his best to greet this man with all of the energy he can muster at 6:53am.

“Hi, how can I help you today?”

The man, seemingly in thought, doesn’t register Keith’s question right away. He’s humming something under his breath, and he’s spinning his keys on his index finger. Keith cocks his head at him, both in question and annoyance.

“Hey, _hello._ ” _‘That’s it Keith – another greeting like that and you’ll be employee of the month.’_

The guy turns to him, as if he’s surprised someone works here. His eyes are really blue.

“Hi?”

Keith blinks at him, trying to figure him out. “Do you need some help?”

“Oh, uh…”

Keith lets out a discreet huff, arranging some tarts in the front display as he waits. Where the hell was Allura? It was now 6:58am—he needed another coffee.

“I need something for an office party.”

Keith stops. “Huh?”

“An office party,” the guy repeats, grinning. “Do you guys do, like-- party packs?”

“Uh…” it’s hard, trying to get your brain to work when dealing with weird customers this early. “Sure, I can… throw something together.”

“Brilliant!”

Keith grabs a box meant for donuts, a clean pair of tongs and throws a bunch of random sweet treats in it. The guy never told him what exactly he wanted, and Keith’s feeling particularly non-committed right now. It’s a selection, all right, and Keith rings the total up before handing the box over to the man.

“Is that everything for today?”

The man was rocking on the soles of his feet, he then he threw Keith a blinding grin; _‘Much too early for this_.’ “Yup.”

“That’ll be $25.90.”

“Card okay?”

Keith takes the visa card, and he can’t help but glance down at the name printed on the front: Lance Álvarez. Keith glances at Lance while the payment goes through, and Keith can admit the man is, well— gorgeous.

He hands it back to him, feeling slightly better about their whole exchange, and Keith briefly wonders again where the hell Allura is. Another customer comes in and so Keith has to say goodbye to the man-- _Lance_.

“Well—thank you. Have a nice day.”

“You too. Nice to meet you, Keith.” And then he _winks_.

He’s gone just like that, the sun now in the sky illuminating him when he steps outside. Keith watches until he’s around the corner, out of sight.

It clicks, then, that Lance had addressed him by name. Keith has a brief moment of panic before he remembers the worn through name tag still hanging off his apron. The new customer asks him for a croissant, distracting him, and so Keith can’t dwell about Lance anymore.

He’ll probably never see him again, anyway.

 

 

 

It’s exactly two weeks later that Keith see’s Lance again.

And he can begrudgingly admit to thinking about Lance several times; there was just something about him, just… _something_ he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

In the days following their _first_ meeting Keith had liked to busy himself out the back; kneading dough or decorating donuts. It was easier than the front; he liked the labour, how it could send him home exhausted and into peaceful sleeps.

Their delivery was here again; Shiro and Rolo were both unloading the crates of flour out the back. Even with a prosthetic arm Shiro was still a complete tank – Keith could see why Allura was pining hard. Right now the two were talking while Rolo did most of the work; it was cute, really.

Rolo handed the clipboard over to Keith to sign.

“This is my least favourite stop of the day,” Rolo sighed. “Shiro becomes useless.”

“I think it’s funny.”

“Yeah, _you_ would.”

The chime rings out so Keith excuses himself, dusting off his apron and making sure there wasn’t still icing anywhere on him. He gets to the front and sees Lance squatting, his face almost pressed up against the glass of the display. Keith warms at the sight, feels a nervous twitch of his hand.

He clears his throat. “Hi, can I help you?”

Lance perks up, and his smile increases when he sees it’s Keith.

(Keith tries not to think about it.)

“Heya,” Lance’s eyes dance, “I’m here for pleasure this time.”

Keith just barely covers a cough. “W-what?”

“Last time I was here for work, now – pleasure.”

Lance was seriously bizarre. And a tease.

Keith starts to wonder if this guy understands basic, normal, human interaction at all. It seems less and less likely. He’s not sure what Lance expects him to say, so Keith kind of just… stands there. It wasn’t as cold today, so Keith is granted with the view of Lance’s neck; smooth and golden. He tries (and fails) not to stare.

“What’s the sweetest thing you have on the menu?”

Crap, he’s not good with sweets. “Uh, the honey éclair, I’m sure.” He _hopes_.

“Awesome, I'll take two please.”

Keith bags them up, careful not to smudge the cream. He brings up the total and Lance pays with cash this time.

“You work here every day, Keith?”

“I—” _Does he?_ “Weekdays— yes.”

“Cool.” Lance smiles, pocketing his change. His hands are pretty, Keith thinks.

Keith hears one of the ovens go off; the pastries are done and waiting. He knows he needs to go, but he doesn’t want to be the first to leave, for some reason. Luckily Lance moves again, saying ‘Thanks’, pulling out his phone and heading for the door. But before he steps out, Keith calls:

“Bye, Lance.”

Lance stops; turns to look at him. Something flickers over his face, like he’s pleased. “Bye, Keith.”

Keith isn’t sure what’s happening, here.

He goes home that night with some extra pastries he made, and so he heats up some milk and eats them in front of the TV. A movie from the 40s is playing-- one of those important ones, he’s sure. Keith looks out the window, then; at the bright moon blanketing him in calm.

He thinks of Lance before he falls asleep on the couch.

 

 

 

“I think we need to hire someone.”

They’d just gotten through a particularly busy lunch hour. It’s been happening more and more lately, and Keith wouldn’t mind having a couple of extra hands around here.

“I’ll think about it.” Allura says; no promises there.

Keith grabs the broom and goes to sweep the front of the shop; the floors are dirty, littered with leaves blown in from the wind and sprinkles from a couple of messy kids that were in here earlier.

Keith is almost done when a familiar figure steps inside, making Keith’s breath catch.

“Hey again,” Lance always sounds happy; it’s kind of unnatural-- for Keith, at least.

“Hi.”

Lance doesn’t go to the counter to let Allura serve him, instead he waits for Keith to finish binning the pile of crap he swept up. Keith allows himself to smile, briefly, at the gesture. And before he can head back behind the counter, Lance stops him.

“Uh, wait--”

Keith looks at him, eyebrow cocked. “Yeah?”

“I’m not—” Lance clears his throat quickly. “I’m not here for food. I wanted to ask you something else, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he shifts slightly. “You know that old bar on Queen? Would you want to meet up there, sometime?”

Keith feels his eyes widen, a fraction. He’s suddenly very aware of Allura watching this entire exchange from the safety behind the counter; probably snickering at them both. Keith weighs out his options—finds himself more excited than he thought. It’s 1:33pm on a Monday, and Lance just asked him on a date.

“Sure, I’d—I’d like that.”

He sees Lance’s shoulders relax, a stupid grin swallowing his face. “Cool. Cool. How about tomorrow? At 8?”

Keith just nods, not trusting his voice to stay even.

Lance nods back, saying, “Okay, right. Awesomesauce.” before sending Keith a final wave and exiting the bakery.

“So,” Allura’s shit-eating grin is on full-force. “He seems nice.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, before shaking his head. “Butt out of it. Don’t make me mention your progress with Shiro. Seriously, you’re as bad as each other.”

He trudges off to the back, but Allura’s laugh continues to follow him.

 

 

 

Keith is the first one at the bar. Which is fine, but he’s pretty sure the person who does the asking out is meant to be there first. But-- whatever.

After a while he sees Lance coming down the street, rugged up and fiddling with a flower in his hand. Lance notices him and picks up speed, reaching Keith and grinning wide.

“For you.” He hands the flower to Keith.

Keith takes it, one side of his mouth quirking up. “So -- the bar closed down. Months ago, from the looks of it.”

“Oh.” Lance sees Keith is right, then. He laughs sheepishly. “Sorry—I honestly didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Keith shrugs.

“Well,” Lance clicked his tongue. “I have a bottle of whiskey at home. Plus a few ciders.”

Keith is impressed with his forwardness. “You don’t want to try another bar?”

“Oh, sure-- if you want that’s fine, too.” A smile.

Keith thinks it over. A free drink always outweighs all other options. Besides, he doesn’t think Lance will try anything weird. He may be kind of strange, from what Keith has seen so far; but he feels like he can trust Lance—his intuition isn’t wrong often.

“Yours sounds fine.”  

Lance smiles wider, practically giddy. He steps aside, arm stretched out. “Well then, follow me.”

 

 

 

Lance’s apartment is nice.

When he steps inside it’s warm; sees Lance lets the small heater in his lounge room run while he’s out. It’s probably not safe, or cheap, but Keith isn’t complaining once he starts to get feeling in his hands again.

Lance takes his jacket and hangs it behind the door. Keith notices a lot of small trinkets around the place; movie tickets, old Christmas cards, matchsticks that have already been used. Stuff Keith never thinks to keep himself, but it seems to fit Lance’s personality well.

Lance walks over to the kitchen, already pulling out two glasses from the cupboards. “So, what are you having?”

Keith remembers his options. “Cider-- to start, thanks.”

Lance pours himself some whiskey and pops the cap off Keith’s cider. He hands it to Keith, before taking a swing of his own drink, smile hidden behind the rim of the glass.

“Nice place,” Keith comments, figuring it’s a decent point to start with.

“Thanks, I—I knew the lady who was here before; she got me a good deal. Rent controlled.”

Keith looks around again; there isn’t a lot of furniture, and there’s a stain on the wall too—almost burnt looking. Lance has a few DVD’s in a pile next to his TV – Keith notices A _Space Odyssey_ and _The Fly_. There’s also one picture hanging up; a large group together, all grinning—Keith assumes they’re relatives.

“Why did you ask me out?”

Keith isn’t sure why he’s steering the conversation there, but he’s suddenly curious. He looks at Lance and finds the other man blinking rapidly. Keith backtracks.

“Sorry.” He laughs shortly. “Nevermind. So… you work in an office, huh?”

“Temp job,” Lance shrugs. “I’ve tried a few courses over the years, but, nothing seemed to hold me down, y’know?”

Keith makes an agreeable sound. “I just did a degree in accounting—it was kind of my parents idea. I figure I might co-own the bakery someday-- otherwise, I’m not sure what to do with it, ha.”

“You seem smart. Don’t worry too much.” Lance sits down on the couch, makes a gesture that Keith is welcome, too.

Keith sits, overwhelmed with the scent of… home? There are several cushions on the couch, none of them matching, and a rug draped over the back; it looks handmade. It’s very Lance. They talk for a while longer, until both of their drinks are finished and Lance gets up to fetch them both another.

When Lance comes back Keith looks over to his movie collection again. “I like your taste, by the way.”

“Oh,” Lance grins, rubbing his neck. “Thanks. I was watching one of my favourites the other night.”

“What?”

“The Princess Bride.”

Keith chokes on his drink a bit, and he turns to Lance fully.

“What?” Lance frowns. “It’s great okay? If you’re gonna make fun—”

“No.” Keith cuts in. “No, I—I love it, actually.”

Lance’s face grows surprised, _excited_. “Oh, cool. Would you—uh, want to watch it? You can never see that movie too many times.”

“Sure.”

Time flies and they’re about halfway through the movie already, and at some point Lance brought out the whiskey and they were both drinking it straight from the bottle, now. Keith feels slightly giddy, and Lance lets out a breathy laugh when Westley shouts _“As you wish!”_ when he’s pushed down the hill.

During a scene Keith remembers well enough, he decides to watch Lance instead. The man is constantly moving a part of himself—leg bouncing, hand picking at some loose threads on the armrest. Keith turns back to the movie, and he can feel every now and then Lance will look over at him, too.

“Cary Elwes was a real looker, back then.”

Keith glanced back over to him. “Yeah, I—I remember wondering why I fancied him more than Buttercup, but…”

Lance let out a laugh. “Imagine my surprise—when I liked them _both_.”

Keith smiled, downing some more whiskey and just catching Lance mouthing along to the lines:

_“There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It’d be a pity to damage yours.”_

_“Westley-- oh Westley darling!”_

Ah, children’s films back then had way more guts. There was something about that era of movies that made Keith want to go back—where you’d go on these crazy adventures and learn a lesson or two before you bagged the love interest. Life in movies just seemed so simple; so _exciting_.

“I’d be nice to have that, someday,” Keith sighed, watching as the two leads embraced in a kiss.

“Perhaps with less deaths, though.”

“What? Doesn’t turn you on?” Keith snickered, angling his body to face Lance.

“If it gets _you_ going, then we might have a problem,” Lance raises an eyebrow, challenging.

The air around them grew suddenly thicker. Keith feels his body grow hot, and he’s not sure if it’s because of Lance or the heater or the blanket still thrown over him from before. Lance’s eyes are dark, and when he darts his tongue out to run over his bottom lip, Keith wastes no more time.

He shot forward, slanting his lips over Lance’s in a desperate kiss. Lance’s arms pull him closer—Keith is almost in his lap, thighs flushed against thighs, and Keith feels a jolt crack up his spine, canting his hips forward into Lance instinctively.

“Keith,” Lance actually _purrs_.

Keith delves his tongue into Lance’s hot mouth, sucking the air from his lungs. Lance’s grip tightens, already making mewling sounds for Keith to continue what he’s doing. He runs his hands through Lance’s hair; it’s soft, light, he scratches through it with purpose. Lance angles his head up, a groan escaping him.

Keith brushes his dick into Lance’s, the both of them pausing to saver the feeling.

“I think I—” Keith starts, swallowing thickly. “I wanna fuck you. Is that—okay?”

“Yeah, _yes_.” Lance pants into his mouth. “That’s—fuck, _holy shit_ , more than okay.”

Keith forces himself to stand up, his dick already straining in his pants, his jeans not offering much relief. Lance follows, the movie credits now playing as they go, and he shows Keith down the hall to his room.

Keith removes his pants first, eager to move around easier. Lance copies, followed by his shirt, as well. Then they’re both standing there, with only underwear, and Keith admires how beautiful Lance is; all golden and lean with broad, inviting shoulders. Keith sucks in another breath before snapping forward again.

Lance meets him in the middle, and they fall into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing. Keith feels his breath hitch, legs sliding over legs, their dicks only two layers away from relief. Keith slips his fingers below the waistline, cupping Lance’s ass, squeezing.

Lance laughs into him—this deep rumble that makes something in Keith flutter.

“Fuck, god—” Lance wheezes, playing with the hairs at Keith’s neck.

Keith holds on to Lance’s back; muscles constricting underneath his palms. Keith moans, biting down on Lance’s plush lips, sucking there.

“Lance, you—” Keith’s not sure what he’d planned to say, but he’s cut off anyway when Lance pushes him down into the bed, pinning him and kissing down Keith’s neck and sucking on his pulse point.

Keith chokes, hips twitching up, letting his fingernails dig into Lance’s shoulder blades. Lance moves down his stomach, tongue hot and heavy, leaving tingles running throughout Keith’s body. He reaches Keith’s clothed dick, looking up once to ask for permission.

Keith nods, fast, and he lets out a shaky breath when his dick finally pops free.

“Keith,” Lance puffs, hot right over the hairs, making Keith close his eyes for a moment.

_It’s been much too long._

Lance licks up his shaft, light and teasing-- it makes Keith want to reach out, to shove himself right into Lance’s mouth; fuck him hard and raw.

“ _Lance_.” He bites out, voice cracking slightly.

Lance smirks, barely, before finally granting Keith relief and sliding his lips down his cock. Keith lets out an involuntary ‘Ah!’ sound, watching, feeling himself hit the back of Lance’s mouth repeatedly. It’s too good; Keith whines, spreading his thighs wider, and Lance returns to teasing, slowing down and making Keith anxious.

Keith grunts. “N-not _fair_ , man.”

He can practically _feel_ Lance’s smugness around his erection, and Keith looks down in time to catch Lance about to pleasure himself, too.

“Oh, no, _no_.” Keith snaps forward, hauling Lance off him and kissing him again instead. Keith grips Lance’s wrists, holding him in place, and Lance whimpers when Keith starts to nip at his jaw.

“I’m going to make you cum tonight without being touched.”

It’s a promise, and Lance nods.

Keith wonders around Lance’s body, feeling his warmth, splaying his hands over any part of him he wants to. Lance tells him ‘don’t stop’ and Keith buries his face in Lance’s collarbone, lips scorching. He licks him all over, tweaking Lance’s nipples, and Lance spasms underneath his touch.

“How would you like to do this?” Keith murmurs, running his tongue over Lance’s earlobe.

Lance is quiet for a moment, his hands like vices on Keith’s waist. “From behind—do me, behind.”

Keith closes his eyes, just imagining it. He gives Lance one more heated kiss, that jolt returning when Lance pushed in further, chasing him. He guides Lance into position slowly, taking his time, and when Lance is on all fours Keith has to remind himself to breathe.

“Lance, you—” Keith hitches, “ _Fuck_ , you just—oh man.”

Lance turns his head to look at him, all flushed and too pretty for words. “I’ll be good for you.”

Keith stifles an embarrassing moan, wondering how this man is even _real_. He’s achingly hard, now. He shifts towards Lance on the bed, the frame creaking slightly underneath his weight. His hands reach out subconsciously, running up Lance’s toned thighs before cupping his ass, and Keith kisses right on his spine, near his back dimples.

Lance is the one making serene noises now, and Keith hears Lance drag in a long breath, his body relaxing under Keith’s affectionate touches.

Keith soaks up Lance’s musk, committing the smell to memory. He trails down, loving how Lance pushes back into him. Keith stops at his puckering hole, staring, and then when Lance makes a desperate plea Keith complies, rewarding him.

He licks it, teasing, and he laps up his spit before allowing himself to plough in.

“Ughn!” Lance hissed, pushing back on Keith, begging.

Keith thrives on the response, delving further inside his hole, until his cheeks are pressed flush against Lance’s. It’s incredibly hot; Keith can’t remember the last time he enjoyed rimming someone this much. Lance is-- something else, entirely.

Lance is breathing fast, now. The room starts to smell like sex, and Keith can feel himself grow even more excited—if possible. His tongue muscles start to strain, mouth slack from how much he wants this.

“Lance, I—” Keith pulls away-- it’s a challenge, but he _has_ to.

“I’m ready; lube, condom—” Lance twists, “--cabinet above the bathroom sink.”

Keith is up before he finishes, dashing to the bathroom. He opens it, eyes scanning as quickly as he can, and they pass over some prescription drugs, catching a name on the side label: Lance McClain.

Keith averts his gaze-- feeling like he’s invaded, and finally sees the lube and some condoms on the top shelf. He marches back out, coming to a stop when he finds Lance already fucking himself on one of his fingers.

The air rushes out of him like a punch to the gut.

“ _Lance._ ” His voice is gravelly, hoarse-- like a branding pipe was stuck in his throat.

Lance doesn’t stop, merely looks back at him, eyes hooded and cloudy with lust. It’s _illegally_ sexy. Keith’s body twitches, so, _so_ frantic with desire. He moves back to his previous position, not daring himself to blink, fear of missing any of this.

“Lance.” It’s a command. “I want you to prep yourself for me while I watch.”

He pops the cap off the lube, and he feels Lance shiver when he squirts some around his hole, watching the cold lotion slide in. Lance adds a second finger, scissoring, and Keith swallows audibly, chest constricting. Moans and whimpers fall from Lance’s lips, like a mantra—Keith talks him through it.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, trailing his fingers lightly over Lance’s calves. “You look so good for me—so pretty, readying yourself for my cock.”

“Fuck—” Lance curses, “Keith, _please_ , I need—”

“No.”

“Keith—”

“Just a bit more.” Keith promises. “ _God_ , you’re so beautiful, Lance—you—”

Keith’s not sure if he has any control left, right now. Lance is unlocking another side to him; this unadulterated emotion, stirring fast in his chest and making his bones weak. It’s amazing, and absolutely daunting. Keith tries to shake it away.

After a while it became too much. “Stop—” he croaked, pulling Lance’s fingers out and causing the other man to hiss at the loss.

“Do it.” Lance panted, ready.

“ _Fuck_ , I—” Keith choked, sliding the condom down his length, “I think you’re going to kill me.”

Lance let out a breathy laugh, but was cut short when Keith inserted the tip of his cock inside him. Keith tried his best to hold back from sliding right in, instead willing Lance to adjust first. He lets out the breath he’d been holding in, relaxing.

“M’fine, Keith— _please_.”

“Okay, okay—”

Keith inched in, hands shaking as he held on to Lance. Once he was fully inside Lance he bit his lip hard; he was so _tight_ —so hot. Keith felt his stomach coil, worried the feeling might make him become clumsy, his body trembling. Lance shifted underneath him; Keith groaned, words spilling out without thought.

“Lance, you feel amazing, you—holy shit, how— _how_ —”

Lance let out a bark of laughter, “Keith, I swear to god, if you don’t start fucking me _right_ _now_ —”

“Yeah, _yeah_.”

Keith started pumping out and back in. It felt amazing, and when Lance clenched around him Keith thought for one moment of horror that he was going to cum, just from that. With each thrust, Lance buried his face further into the pillows, cries muffled when Keith began brushing over his prostate.

Lance turned his head, voice broken. “Fuck, Keith; there, _there_ —”

Keith snapped forward, causing Lance to break off on a moan. He kept an uneven pace, Lance making him lose control; it was slowly becoming too much; too fast.

“I’m not gonna last--- Lance, I’m _not_.”

“Keep going,” Lance slurred, matching his thrusts, knocking Keith for a loop.

Keith kept up his pace, snaking his hands around Lance, his hands scratching along the base of his stomach. Lance whimpered, his hands gripping the sheets, shoulders clenching. Keith could feel sweat on the back of his neck; his heart was spasming in his chest.

His release was building, growing hotter by the minute-- blinding him. But he wanted Lance to cum first, to fill his promise. He rubbed over his sweet spot again and again and again, making Lance come undone beneath him.

“Ahh!—” Lance sobbed, twitching as he finally came untouched, squeezing so unbelievably tight around Keith it triggered his own release. Something close to Lance’s name spilled out of him, like a prayer.

It was hot and fast, catching him off guard, and Keith tried to gulp down air as the feeling consumed him in a vice like grip. He slumped forward, breath hot and sticky as it fanned over Lance’s back, lips wet as he littered it with kisses.

Lance collapsed underneath him, the both of them falling to their sides, Keith still inside him. He pulled out, Lance letting out a guttural groan from the loss.

Keith tied the condom, throwing it to the other side of the room. He waited, seeing if this was when he was supposed to leave, now—if Lance was done with him.

Lance turned in his arms, slowly; he treated Keith with a blinding smile, spent and content. Keith wanted to kiss it off him—so he did.

It was intimate; it made Keith want to hold on, to not stop.

Lance pulled away first, eyes already closing. “Sleep, now.”

“Are you… commanding me? Or informing me?” Keith laughed quietly.

“Mmm.” Was all Keith got in response.

Keith watched Lance for a bit, admiring him; his eyelashes, the dip in his nose, freckles he hadn’t noticed before. His hair was sticking out crazily, but it made Keith’s heart swell. He was… gorgeous.

Keith allowed his own eyes to close, figured he’d worry about this tomorrow.

 

 

 

Keith woke up to an empty bed.

He heard some rustle in the kitchen, though, so the small wave of panic he had felt disappeared as quickly as it came. He laid there for a moment, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his eyes. His head stung, only slightly, and now all of a sudden he had no idea how to go about this.

He figured this was going to just be a onetime thing, no questions asked.

It sort of hurt, to think that.

He got out of bed, feeling gross from not bothering to clean himself last night. He hoped Lance had some mouth wash in his bathroom.

He threw on his boxers and t-shirt before making his way back out into Lance’s lounge room. He was in front of the stove, whistling, and whatever he was cooking was making Keith’s stomach grumble.

Lance must’ve heard his footsteps, turning around to greet him. “Mornin’.”

“Hey.”

“You hungry?” Lance stepped aside slightly to show off the scrambled eggs frying in the pan.

“Yeah, thanks.” Keith stood there, and then, “Do you have coffee?”

Lance points to a pot with his spatula, and Keith goes over to it eagerly, savouring the smell as he pours it into a mug. The bitterness helps him to wake up, and Keith is struck by how home-y everything feels--and already so much more than his _own_ apartment.

Keith was glad he didn’t have work today, and he wondered when Lance would have to get going; how much longer Keith had with him before this all ended.

Lance set down a plate for each of them, buttering up some toast before dumping the eggs on top. They ate comfortably, and Keith kept sneaking glances at him, and sometimes Lance would catch him while shooting him a smile.

Keith distracted himself by looking at his mug, then, properly—it looked hand-painted, stars and planets littered around the expanse of it. He smiled, courage sparking in him.

“This was… really nice,” he looked up, watching Lance. “So, thank you.”

Lance answered him with a laugh, honest and beautiful. “Same,” a grin, “And if you want, we can… continue this in the shower, if you’d like?”

Keith feels his body flush, like he’d been triggered. Dammit, Lance was already under his skin. Abort, _abort_.

He does the opposite, skidding the chair back and practically lunging for Lance.

Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s neck, mouth opening wide to accommodate Keith’s prying tongue. Keith can already feel Lance’s growing interest, and he’s much of the same; and they stumble a bit, blindly trying to reach the bathroom without breaking contact.

They pause near the wall, Lance crowding in his space and making Keith feel suffocated, but in the most _amazing_ way.

All he can feel and see and breathe is Lance.

Lance tugs at the hem of his shirt, and Keith breaks away to help him lift it up. Lance follows, clothes dropping to the floor and then they’re both naked and panting.

It feels more intense, this time.

There’s no alcohol buzzing in his system; there’s no darkness to hide every emotion on his face. It’s just them, standing in the middle of Lance’s small bathroom, and Keith wonders if maybe this was all a mistake.

Lance runs the water, getting it just right, and then Keith is being pulled forward. He goes, without question, his thoughts one big mess.

The water refreshes him, and it’s almost too much when he watches Lance; it makes him glisten, droplets dripping from his lips, falling down his body like tiny waterfalls. He’s stunning, and Keith can’t breathe.

“ _Lance._ ”

A call for help; a plea.

Lance holds onto him, wet lips trailing down his temple, and Keith feels his body go limp, giving himself over.

“Let me take care of _you_ , now.” Lance whispers, skilled hands already gearing to work.

Keith plasters into the crook of Lance’s neck; sighing, blood hot, and he wonders how Lance makes him feel so young again.

 

 

 

Later, when they’re done, Lance has to leave in a rush.

He stops Keith when they’re on the streets; kisses him quick, tells him he’ll swing by the bakery again to see him. Keith isn’t sure he believes him, but he holds on to Lance’s promise anyway. He decides to visit his work; talk to Allura and get some ‘sage’ advice.

“I’m only 4 years older than you, Keith, stop that.”

It’s too early for the lunch rush, so Keith hangs out in the back as Allura slices up some bread.

“Do you think I’m over-thinking this?” he asks her.

She seems to think it over. “Honestly? I haven’t seen you this excited about dating someone in a while.” She ties the bagged bread with skilled precision. “Just ask him what page you’re on when you see him again-- that’s all there is too it, really.”

Keith fiddles with a rubber-band; knows she’s right, that he’s just fretting.

 

 

 

It’s raining the next day when Keith wakes up. It’s eerily dark as he travels to work; tired faces and vacant seats on the early train. The walk to the bakery is quick-- he doesn’t need an umbrella. Car headlights guide him as they reflect in the water occupying the ground, and Keith breathes in the smell of the trees as the rain falls through them.

Allura greets him with a smile; a gentle nudge wishing him good luck with Lance.

He readies the front, turning the coffee machine on and setting the pastry warmer on medium.

“Y’know, I think I will hire someone else.”

Keith turns to her, waits until she’s finished arranging the cheap sweets for today. “Cool. Someone for the front, mostly?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “So if you know anyone—relatives, friends—let me know.”

“Sure.”

Mrs. Rose comes in then. Keith tells Allura he’s got it; he’s feeling particularly good about today, the rain had always seemed to calm him when he was feeling stressed. She has her grey hair pulled back into a bun, and despite the weather she’s still smiling wide.

“Good morning, Keith. Bit of a dreary day, isn’t it?”

Keith smiles good-naturedly. “Things might get brighter soon, who knows?”

“Yes, never lose hope, that’s right!” She rummages through her purse for a moment. “Just two vanilla slices today, dear, please.”

 Keith puts them in a box for her, and then a thought pops in his head. “Mrs. Rose? Do you know anyone who’s looking for work right now?”

She pauses, scrunching her face up in consideration; and then it lights up. “Oh, yes! My granddaughter, Nyma, is actually looking for part-time work. You’re planning to hire, are you?”

“Yeah.” Keith hands her purchase over to her, accepting her note. “If you think she’d fit in here, have her give Allura a call soon.”

“I will, dear. She’ll be very grateful, I’m sure.”

Just then Lance walks in, his shoulders damp and some clumps of hair sticking to his forehead. Keith feels his heart twist as Lance waits to the side, busying himself by sending Keith winks and kissy faces. Keith tries not to get distracted.

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Rose.”

Mrs. Rose turns around and jumps when she sees Lance. “Oh, you gave me a fright, dear.” She laughs, patting his arm. “You’re quite a handsome man-- Keith, look after him!”

Lance grins over at him and Mrs. Rose winks before leaving the shop.

Keith retracts everything he ever thought before-- old people _are_ evil.

“Sorry.” Keith shakes his head.

“No worries; old ladies dig me, since the wee old age of 1.” He walks over and rests his arms on top of the counter, suggestive.

Keith swats at him. “Weirdo.” He looks at Lance, feeling nervous again. “So… did you want to meet up again?”

Lance smiles, pure and sweet. “Definitely. And somewhere that isn’t shut down this time, I promise.”

That gets a laugh out of Keith. “Good to know. Can I just—would having my number be easier, or?”

“Yeah-- _yeah_.” Lance grins.

Keith types it in his phone and gives it back. When their hands touch Keith suddenly remembers their first night together and it sends a shiver up his spine, jolting. He wants to ask Lance now—what exactly he’s digging himself into. But he holds back, doesn’t want to scare Lance away.

“Okay, then.” Lance fidgets, his palm splaying flat on the glass and his fingers angling towards Keith. “Okay, I’ll—message you, soon.”

And then Lance pushes his body up over the counter, and Keith thinks they’re going to collide horribly. But Lance steadies himself at the last moment, and he kisses Keith’s nose, his breath warm and smelling of coffee as it fans over his cheeks. Keith blushes.

“Later.” Another hand wave, and Lance is gone.

“Oh.” Keith breathes, glad no one was around for that--

“So~”

\--of course. He angles his head around, sees Allura looking smug. “Not a word from you. Seriously, or I’m telling Shiro all about your crush on him.”

Allura wisely zips shut, but she’s still smiling.

 

 

 

Keith receives a text before his shift is over:

 **Unknown number** | 4:23pm

_‘Corner of William and 10 th tonight, 7pm – Lance ;)’_

He smiles, saving the number and sending back a simple _‘okay :)’_ before pocketing his phone. Allura lets him off early, since it’s been pretty quiet for the past hour and Keith has cleaned up all he can for the day. He goes home, showering again just because he can, and brushing his teeth until it almost hurt. But he wasn’t nervous, not at all.

It’s 6:35 and he decides to leave, not really trusting how fast the bus could get him there. He’s never really in this part of town, so he’s not quite sure what Lance has in mind for their second date. Or well, ‘not date’. He runs a hand through his hair, mentally reminding himself to get his shit together.

He jumps off the bus when it stops, glancing around for a moment before seeing William Street up ahead. He gets to the corner and wonders if this was what Lance had meant.

It’s a pottery painting café.

He’s about to send Lance another text to double check he’s in the right place, but then the man himself shows up, all grins and very much in Keith’s space.

“You’re always beating me, not fair.”

Keith smirks slightly. “Is this the place?”

“Yeah.” Lance goes over to hold the door open for him, like the gentleman he is. “After you.”

Keith shakes his head, wondering, once again, how this man was even real. 

He was struck with both smells of coffee and paint; worn-in and mismatched furniture littered the small space, gentle music was playing, a cat (that he assumed lived here) was curled up on a bed in the corner. It was warm, welcoming, and Keith wondered how often Lance came in here, remembering the space mug from their first morning.

“Hey, Lance.” A man behind the counter waves him over, scruffy beard and covered in tattoos. “I see you’ve brought someone.”

“This is Keith,” Lance gestures to him, a glint in his eyes. “He’s a pottery-painting virgin.”

“A what?” Keith sputters.

“Oh dear,” the guy laughs, winking. “Not for long, though.”

Lance guides him over to the end of a communal table, pulling out his chair for him. Keith sits, a disbelieving laugh bubbling in his throat, and then Lance’s face grew mock-serious.

“Mug or plate?”

“What?” Keith frowns.

“Would you like to paint a mug? Or a plate; maybe if you’re feeling adventurous—a bowl? It’s on me, so take your pick.”

“Oh,” Keith thinks it over, like it was life or death. “A… plate, please.”

“Good, good—easiest, even a baby could do one.”

“Thanks.”

The grin returns. “Anything for you.”

Keith would hate to admit it, but as the time passes he’s actually enjoying himself. Any previous worries he had about… wherever they stood, he decided ‘fuck it’ and rolled with the punches. Lance was fun to hang around, even with pottery painting. Keith was a 26 year old man, and here he was, drawing Fry from Futurama on a dinner plate and loving every second of it.

Some coffees came over, and while Keith drank his Lance spoke up.

“I like coming here. It reminds me of home—maybe that’s silly, but hey,” he shrugs, his tongue poking out as he concentrates on colouring the background.

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “Thank you for taking me here. I’m glad I could give my pottery virginity to you.”

Lance’s leg comes over to rest against his, and Keith hides a smile.

 

 

 

The door to Lance’s apartment slammed open, hands fumbling to turn the lights on in the darkness. Keith has a desperate hold on Lance, sucking on his neck insistently and tugging at the Lance’s belt. 

“Keith, fuckin’— _shit_ , hold on.” Lance gasps, placing their pottery on the hallstand.

“Lance, _Lance._ ”

Lance growls, moving Keith’s face up to slam their mouths together. The wind is knocked out of him; his heart is a hummingbird struggling to escape in his chest. Keith walks backwards, drags Lance with him. They crash, they stumble, they fall together beautifully and Keith can’t _breathe_.

“Want you—Lance, fuck me, _please_ —”

“Oh, shit, yeah. _Yes_.”

Clothes are shed; Keith is cold for a moment until Lance’s body is flush with his, skin hot and teeth biting. He pulls back, just looking at Lance, and really—isn’t that the whole problem here? Keith nips along Lance’s jaw, trying to chase the feeling away. Lance’s hands claw at his back, and Keith feels himself being lifted before he’s falling back onto the bed, Lance looming over him.

“Lance, I—” Keith’s mind scrambles. “What are we doing?”

“Uh, well, sex—right?”

“Right. But.” Keith licks his lips. “Is that—what do you want, from this?”

Keith holds his breath, waits.

“I, um,” Lance pauses, his fingers pin-points of warmth on Keith’s chest. “I’m not the best at—I always seem to screw up relationships, so.”

Keith thinks about his own track record, thinks: okay, he can—this is something he can do. Easy enough, right?

“So we’re helping each other out?”

“I-if you want that.”

Keith doesn’t trust his voice: he kisses Lance, pulls him down, their limbs becoming so intertwined Keith doesn’t know where he ends and Lance begins.

Lance is so gentle, it surprises Keith. He touches Keith like he’s delicate, moves against him like it was their first time. Fingers card in his hair, holding on, and Keith is acutely aware of how his mind is slowly failing him. Lance consumes every part of his body, drags of scorching lips and noises of admiration.

Fingers slide in, slick and curling and making him come undone. He writhes, begging for more, and Lance silences him with a breath stealing kiss. He’s only briefly aware of foil being ripped open, of Lance entering him slow and sweet. He feels so full, gripping Lance’s back hard as the other man begins rocking into him.

It’s too hot; Keith’s vision grows cloudy, heat coiling where Lance is connected to him. Lance is firm, but gentle, and he sucks on Keith’s throat while his hands come around to lift Keith’s back off the mattress.

The new angle just about destroys Keith. He feels like he’s floating, like Lance is this higher being carrying him to salvation. It’s absolutely terrifying, but he holds on anyway—afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t.

They cum together beautifully, like the final build-up in a song, and Lance’s name falls from his lips like it’s the last word he’ll ever say.

 

 

 

A few days later Keith was at work. They were training Nyma; she was really very good, switching from nice and helpful around the customers and then to tough and gritty when required. Keith was impressed, so was Allura. Nyma also doesn’t let Rolo give her any shit, and one day before he left Rolo whispered to Keith, “I think I’m in love.”

It’s Wednesday again and their delivery was finished, and Allura comes back in from outside, then, eyes wide and blushing slightly.

“Oh, my god.” Keith laughs. “Did it finally happen?”

She simply nods, coming over to rest her forehead on Keith’s shoulder.

“He just asked, and—well, of course I said yes.”

“Thank the lord.”

Allura pulls away, swats him without force. “Don’t ruin this, you.”

Keith snorts. “I’m happy for you, you know that.”

She looks at him, eyes lighting up. “What about you and Lance? Did you guys talk?”

“Uh.” Keith coughs. “Yeah, it’s—we’re just hanging out, right now.”

Her look grows sympathetic, head tilting. “I’m sorry. Maybe… maybe things will change, who knows?”

Keith makes a noncommittal noise, effectively ending the conversation. Allura squeezes his arm as she walks by, and Keith appreciates it enough. He’s a grown man; he knows what he’s getting into, here.

(Famous last words.)

 

 

 

They’re at Lance’s place again, both wrapped under the homemade blanket to escape the chill of the afternoon. They’ve started going through Lance’s DVD collection as the weeks go by, making jokes or comments as they watch.

They were currently halfway through The Dark Crystal, and Keith couldn’t stop laughing.

“No, seriously!” Lance tried to get in between Keith’s snorts of laughter, “I legitimately thought those bird creatures were real. Seven year old me was so convinced, man—special effects back then were unparalleled.”

“Don’t worry,” Keith calmed down, “I used to drive my parents nuts with conspiracy theories. They banned me from watching The X-Files, but I still managed to watch it at a friend’s house, anyway.”

“Nerd,” Lance shoved him playfully.

“Says the guy with a Ghost Hunter’s poster in his bedroom.”

“The paranormal is _way_ more believable than bigfoot.”

Keith fake gasped. “Take that back!”

Lance leaned closer, breath hot in Keith’s ear. “Make me.”

Keith suppressed a shiver. “Don’t use your disbeliefs as leverage for sex.”

“Mmm, why not?” Lance nibbled at his earlobe, a hand coming down to palm over Keith’s dick.

Keith surged up, pinning Lance down onto the couch and bringing his hips down to rut their growing interests together. Lance breathed out a moan, eyes fluttering closed, and Keith stopped to look at him. Keith grew gentler, taking his time angling his head just right and slanting their lips together. Lance played with his hair, and Keith felt his heart stutter.

They ended up cuming just like that-- without removing their pants, like two horny teenagers just starting out in a relationship. It was almost ridiculous; their jeans were chaffing, Keith had to borrow a pair of Lance’s boxers afterwards and they both had embarrassed blushes tinting their cheeks when they had finished, but really… Keith wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 

 

 

Keith wasn’t sure how they ended up back here, but here they were.

“Don’t worry,” Lance winked, “It took me a while before I moved on from plates, so don’t feel intimidated that I’m so amazing at this.”

“It took you 3 months to move on, to be exact.” Steve, from behind the counter, piped up.

“ _Steve_ —that’s it; no tip for you tonight, buddy.”

Keith smirks, going back to his own plate. He’s not letting Lance see his design this time, not until it’s done. Lance found another mug to paint; the first of a set he’s doing, apparently, and he’ll paint the other one next time. Keith feels a spark of eagerness from the words ‘next time’.

Sometimes he wonders how someone so different to him, someone like _Lance_ , is even a possibility. They’ve already been doing this… _arrangement_ , for a while now. And this arrangement apparently includes fortnightly visits to go out and paint pottery. It’s both weirdly entertaining and makes Keith fall harder.

“Okay.” Keith puts his brush back in the tin of water. “I think I’m done.”

“Should I close my eyes?”

“Sure.”

Lance does, and Keith steals a few seconds to just admire him, the other man smiling wide in anticipation and making Keith want to dig his own grave. He flips his plate to show Lance.

“Okay, ready.”

Lance opens his eyes, excitement dropping to turn into a scowl. “It’s a drawing of my dick.”

“Yeah,” Keith smiles. “And look, it’s waving at you, aw.”

“Keith.”

“I should draw my dick next to it, too, actually. They can hold hands.”

“ _Keith._ ”

“What?” Keith looks at him, suddenly greeted with a different sight from before. Lance’s eyes are hooded, his tongue darting out briefly to lick his lips, and Keith feels his entire body flush hot.

Lance _does_ end up tipping Steve; after he throws a mess of notes at him as payment and dragging Keith out of the store by his hand, Keith decides that _yes_ , pottery night is the best.

 

 

 

“How did I let you convince me to help you with this?”

“Because, if you want _this_ bad boy--” Lance gestured down to his crotch, “Then I need clean clothes to constantly keep up with your hormones, Kogane.”

“ _My_ hormones? If I took away your sex privileges right now you wouldn’t last a _day_ , Álvarez.”

“Keith, please. There are sensitive ears in here.”

Keith looked over to the only other occupant in the laundromat; a little old lady, who was currently squinting over at them before shaking her head slightly. This was probably one of the more average outings they’ve been on, and Keith hated to admit it, but Lance was right—he wanted to take the next trip to bone-town, and _soon_ (especially if Lance kept bending over like that).

“C’mon, Lance, hurry it up.”

“Patience, young padawan.” Lance winked. “First I need to separate the darks and lights--”

“I know how to do laundry, Lance.”

“—and then you have to measure the perfect amount of softener, otherwise—”

“Lance, seriously.”

“—also, don’t forget, you have to perform the Laundry Dance to ensure you—”

“Or, how about I go home and just start without you?” Keith purred, plastering himself to Lance’s back and kissing his neck. “Just finger myself open; imagine it’s you filling me up instead,” he continued, voice dropping to a hush. “But, I get it, laundry is more important—”

“Laundry?” Lance scoffed, but it did nothing to hide the crack in his voice. “What are you talking about? I’m totally finished here.”

Lance unceremoniously dumped his clothes in the washer before turning the timer on the highest setting. He twisted around and practically attacked Keith’s mouth, groaning when Keith snaked his tongue in the mix. Keith thinks he heard the old woman gasp in their direction, but they ignored her.

“Who—” Lance panted, pulling Keith with him towards the door. “Who even needs clean clothes anyway? I vote--I vote no one should wear clothes in my apartment, _ever_. This is now legally binding.”

Keith laughed, inexplicably happy, and let Lance take him home to have his way with him. 

 

 

 

“I think they did a good job on bringing new fans into the Potter universe.”

“Still, I wish Redmayne’s accent was just a bit easier to understand.”

Lance laughed brightly, adjusting his coat back on.

Keith was glad Lance was as keen to go and see the movie as he was. The theatre had been fairly crowded, but they’d managed to find two seats up the back. Keith had also spent a majority of the time pointedly reminding himself this wasn’t a date, because it was perfectly normal for friends with benefits to go to the movies together.

He really needed a drink.

“I always wished I was magical; I could live on the _moon_ , if I wanted.” Keith commented.

“I’d want to explore the ocean—see all of these parts of the world no one’s ever discovered.”

“The ocean is terrifying.”

“And space isn’t? That shit is infinite, Keith. _Infinite_.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but the smile never left his face. He stepped closer to Lance; could smell his aftershave, feel his warmth when Lance threw an arm around his shoulders. 

“So, what now?”

Keith checked the time, saw it wasn’t even 9 yet. “Well, I’ve got Bladerunner at home, and I just bought Pringles in bulk size, too.”

“Damn,” Lance grins, “You really know how to woo a guy, huh?”

“I try.”

They started walking, bumping arms and sneaking glances at each other.

“So, you heading home for Christmas?”

Lance nods. “Yeah; the whole family deal—I missed the last one, so, I’m practically the guest of honour this year.”

“Nice.”

“What about you?”

Keith actually had to think about it. “I think my parents are flying to the Bahamas’. They’ve been saving for a while. So, I’ll probably be at home, I guess.”

Lance stopped him, face determined, his eyes dancing. “I’m sorry Kogane, but that simply won’t do. You must come to Christmas with me.”

Keith felt his entire body flush hot. His heart was like a jack-hammer, and even in the cold his hands grew clammy. “Uh, me... meet your family? At Christmas?” He stammered, thinking the idea was a recipe for disaster. 

“Of course.” Lance said, like these simple words weren’t making Keith have a mental breakdown.

“O-okay.”

They continued walking back to his house, and Keith tried his best to think about anything else.

 

 

 

“You’re spending the _holidays_ with him?”

Keith had been trying his best to avoid this conversation, but dammit, Allura was like the nosy older sister he never had. He pulled a tray of pies out of the oven, the smell of them reminding him how hungry he was; it _was_ almost lunchtime.

“It’s fine.” He mumbled.

She sighed, following him as they moved to the front. Nyma was there, and she turned to look at them with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing.” Keith clipped.

“Keith,” Allura said, her voice gone soft. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, yeah? That’s all.”

He took a breath. “I know.”

Lance walked into the bakery, throwing Nyma a wink before focusing all of his attention on Keith. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

Keith chewed on the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling like a fool. Allura subtly poked his side as she passed, and then it was just the two of them left alone.

“So I figure,” Lance starts, stealing one of the pies and slipping Keith some money. “I can pick you up at yours on Friday, around 5? Then we’ll probably be at my folks around 7:30 or so.”

“Sounds good.”

“Cool beans.” Lance reached over to wipe some flour off Keith’s cheek, and Keith tried not to melt from the gesture.

“I think you’re the only person I know who says that.”

“All the more reason why you like me, right?”

Keith busied himself so he wouldn’t have to answer, whistling harmlessly, and Lance threw him his most pouty look. 

“We still on for tonight?”

 Keith smirked, loving the slightly desperate tone in Lance’s question. “Always.”

Lance grinned. “You _totally_ like me.”

 

 

 

Keith had been walking back and forth to his suitcase all day. He wasn’t 100% sure on what to bring; it’s not like they were going for a long time, but it didn’t stop him from freaking out about the fact he was meeting Lance’s family--his goddamn _family_.  

There was a knock at his door, so he finally slammed his luggage closed and made his way over to where Lance was currently singing Christmas songs as loud as he could from the other side of the wall. He opened the door, saying, “Idiot; I have neighbours, you know.”

“Aw.” Lance grinned. “Where’s your Christmas spirit, Keith?”

“I left it in my childhood.”

He shut the door behind him, and Lance carried his luggage for him down to the car. It was a simple Honda, late 90s from the looks of it, and as they drive out of the city Lance tells him a million stories from his youth and all of the trouble he and his siblings had gotten up to in the car.

“Man,” Keith’s laughter settles down after Lance finishes telling a particularly scandalous story, and he tries to catch his breath. “I always wondered how different my life might’ve been if I have siblings.”

“There’s good and bad, like in most scenarios,” Lance admitted, turning the heater up when he noticed Keith rubbing his hands together. “But, I love ‘em all. Being the middle child, I could get away with a lot.”

Keith smirks. “I’m sure you were hell in a handbasket. A young Lance Álvarez—that would have been interesting to see.”

The drive up there seems to fly by pretty quick. They did make one quick stop when Lance claimed this old sweets shop had “The best peanut clusters in the state, Keith. I’m _telling_ you,” (and they really were).

They finally pull up to Lance’s family home. It’s in a quiet neighbourhood, not a lot of other houses around. The house itself looks to be from the 20s, but it’s been refurbished well, with new coats of paint making it stand out against the snow. Lance finds a spot to park in the massive driveway, and all of a sudden a group of children are running out of the house and over towards them.

“Uncle Lance!” one of the older girls says, hugging him around the waist excitedly.

Lance grins wide, hugging her back and ruffling a small boys head, too.

“Who’s that?” the boys asks, looking at Keith as he steps out of the car too.

“That’s Keith,” Lance explains, “He’s going to spend Christmas with us.”

“Where’s your family?” a small girl walks over to Keith, her bright green eyes wide in question.

“Oh, they’re on a holiday. So, I thought it might be fun to come up here, instead.” He bends down to her level, extending a hand. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Duh!” she grabs Keith’s hand with both of her own, bouncing slightly. “My name is Lisa. I like playing Uno—do you like Uno?”

Keith smiles, nodding. “I do like playing Uno.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Lance laughs, going to the trunk to get their things. “That’s all you’ll be doing now; you have been warned.”

Keith doesn’t really mind. He helps Lance with the luggage and they all make their way up the steps to the front door, and suddenly a woman (who he assumes in Lance’s mother) ushers them inside eagerly. Their bags are gone, and steamy cups of cocoa are placed in their hands like magic. Keith blinks, trying to catch up.

“Oh, Lance, sweety,” the woman pulls him in for a hug, and then she kisses both his cheeks. “Visit more, okay?”

“I know, má,” Lance chuckles sheepishly, taking a sip of his hot drink.

The woman turns to Keith, and he’s treated with the same greeting as Lance, making Keith’s heart melt a little from the pure honesty of it.

“And you must be Keith.” She brushes some snow off his shoulders.

He nods. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Álvarez. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Please dear, call me Mirana. And of course; the more the merrier!”

Keith smiled, suddenly hit with this overwhelming feeling of home. She excused herself when one of the kids ran by, sneaking away a present under their clothes. Lance grinned around the rim of his mug as he watched on, and so Keith closed the few feet between them and ran a light hand over Lance’s elbow.

“Shall I have a tour?”

Lance’s eyes widened, as if Keith had uttered the magic words. He stepped back, winking, and said, “Follow me.”

 

 

 

The Álvarez estate was impressive.

It was to be expected, what with so many family members to board. The property was large, and near the house they had a chicken koop set up (they apparently went through a lot of eggs). A makeshift treehouse stood tall and proud in one of the larger trees, and a garden full of local plants and vegetables that Mirana attended to covered the expanse of the left side of their land.

The entire second floor of the house was just bedrooms, and they had a basement that Lance’s father liked to use to brew his own beer.

They had reached the end of the hallway upstairs and Lance opened a door that had ‘Ocean-boy’ etched into the frame.

“My superhero phase as a kid,” Lance explained, letting Keith inside. “My power was the ability to talk to all ocean creatures; plus I could control water.”

The room was painted a dusty blue colour. Half of it had begun to be turned into a study, but Lance’s bed still remained in the corner by the window. An old record collection was stacked next to a few boxes at the end of the bed. Some baseball trophies stood proudly on a shelf, and a drawing of a dog that Lance had drawn at the age of 3 was hanging above the headboard.

Keith felt like he was looking into a diary; like he was learning things about Lance little by little. Lance walked over and dropped down onto his bed, patting the space next to it.

Keith laughed. “You’re not gonna ask me to make-out with you in your childhood room, are you?”

“What? No waaay.” Lance drew out, wagging his eyebrows.

Keith snorted, padding over to his records instead. He found one of Ray Charles’ earlier albums, and without really thinking about it he put it in the player resting atop an old chair, finding the track he wanted before standing back up.

He held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

Lance’s face grew soft, linking his fingers with Keith’s as ‘Georgia On My Mind’ played in the background.

They stayed like that, just swaying together in the limited space available as the gentle music hummed softly around them. The sun had started to set, small specks of light still creeping in through the window. Keith rested his head on Lance’s shoulder; felt Lance’s hand tighten at his waist.

And even after the song came to a stop, they continued dancing anyway. Keith closed his eyes, thoughts of _never wanting this to end_ flittering through his mind.

 

 

 

Keith met the other members of the family as they arrived throughout the rest of the evening. Brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. Lance’s grandmother wasn’t at all like Keith’s nana; he watched her as she practically ran the house, swatting anyone who tried to even come close to the kitchen to sneak some food.

Lance’s older brother, Nicolas, came over to chat with him on the couch after Lance had disappeared to play an impromptu game of hide and seek.

“Keith, right?” he extended a hand in greeting.

Keith shook it. “Yeah, it’s nice to finally take a breather. I’m repeating everyone’s names in my head, so I don’t forget anyone.”

Nicolas laughed politely. “It’s okay; it’s like meeting an entire football team. You’ll get used to everyone, over time.”

Keith felt his chest warm at the possibility. “So, which of these rugrats are yours?”

Nicolas pointed across the room. “Josie, who’s standing next to Mirana. And I think you met Lisa, yeah?”

“They’re lovely girls.”

“They are. We had Josie a bit earlier than we'd planned, but our má was there to help us out greatly. I’ll always owe a lot to her.”

Keith could picture that easily—the Álvarez family seemed very close knit. He thought of his own family, how small it was; and half of them still lived back in Korea. A small body suddenly jumps on him from behind, and he turns to see Lisa, grinning so wide he can see the gap in her teeth.

“Keith, play with us!”

“Lisa,” Nicolas advises, “What do we say when we ask someone something?”

“Please,” she remembers, proudly, dimples on full display.

“I can play,” Keith agrees, earning a happy shrill out of Lisa. He starts to count to 30, covering his eyes and holding back a grin when he hears her dash off excitedly.

 

 

 

The next day is officially Christmas day, and the Álvarez household is filled with hustle and bustle, feet scurrying about in reckless abandon. He had been roomed in one of the spare bedrooms; he assumed Lance’s family just though he was a friend tagging along, and not… well—not a romantic partner, per se.

And he didn’t mind being woken up by the kids at the ass-crack of dawn, especially when Lance was also dragged out of his room still dressed in his old Power Rangers pyjamas. They were then promptly ushered downstairs, probably to open presents, and Keith hid a smile when Lance linked his fingers through his own for a secret moment.

He was surprised when a present was handed his way, and he turned to Lance in question. Lance merely shrugged though a yawn, going to the kitchen to fetch them some coffee.

Keith opened it. Inside was (what he assumed) a hand-knitted jumper with his first initial on it. He laughed at the ridiculousness of it-- impressed that Mirana had made it for him in time for his visit. And of course it reminded him of Harry Potter—how could it _not_?

The rest of the day was spent stuffing themselves full; having an hour long snowball fight in the backyard (to which Keith and Lance acted as opposing team leaders and Keith totally won) and then finishing the holiday off with some singing as Lance’s father played on the old piano in their rumpus room.

It was amazing; happiness threatened to burst inside him and overflow like a dam.

That night he gave in and decided to sneak into Lance’s room.

The other man was propped up on the headboard, looking through some old school books when Keith stepped inside. Lance’s face lit up, lifting the covers back to accommodate Keith nestling into his side.

“Knew you wanted to do it in my room,” Lance joked, his feet playing with Keith’s under the covers.

Keith kissed him tenderly-- like he had wanted to all day.

And when Lance whispered his name in the darkness, for just the two of them, Keith knew, well and truly, that he’d done the one thing he’d been trying to avoid:

He’d fallen.

 

 

 

They packed up their bags the next day, and Keith flew through so many hugs and kisses and handshakes he hadn’t realized just how much he was going to miss this family. Lisa had clung onto his leg, her tinted cheeks puffing out in a sign of defeat when Keith told her he really had to leave.

Mirana was the last to say her goodbyes to him. She pulled him in tightly like a mother would, rocking slightly back and forth before releasing him to hand him a care package for the road.

“We always have too many leftovers," she laughed, warm and bright in the chill of the afternoon. “And let me say—I was very excited to see Lance _finally_ bring someone home.”

They way she said it made Keith think that maybe she _did_ know that Keith was more than just a friend. Mother’s intuition, he guessed. It wasn’t until after he said his thanks, then being rushed over to the car, and were now halfway back home that he registered the other half of what Mirana had said:

Lance had apparently never brought someone home with him.

That thought had him so distracted he hadn’t even heard Lance when he’d talked about how much his family had loved Keith and wanted him to visit again.

It was all too much, suddenly.

Lance dropped him home, and Keith just barely heard the end of Lance’s question asking when he was free next.

“I—” he looked over at Lance, his stomach twisting. “I think I need to take a... a break from this.”

“From what?” Lance frowned.

Keith swallowed; it hurt, like a million needles piercing his skin. “This _thing_ , this—whatever it is we’ve been doing for months now. I think I just, need to think about a few things.”

“…Keith,” Lance breathes, stepping closer. His mouth is turned down; his eyes somehow less bright. Keith hates himself for putting that expression there.

Keith chokes out one last, “I’m sorry, Lance,” before stalking into his building, the door closing shut behind him—like a barrier protecting Lance from Keith, and preventing Keith from turning back in regret.

He doesn’t even make it halfway up the stairs when the tears finally fall.

 

 

 

Lance calls him, of course. He texts, too.

It’s not persistent, because Lance is respectful like that. He only receives two texts, one asking him if Lance did anything to upset him (which is ridiculous) and another saying he hopes Keith is okay regardless.

He wants to throw his phone against the wall, then.

He hates that Lance is who he is. He hates that the man is still so understanding, so kind, even after Keith treated him like that with no warning at all. Hates that Lance hadn’t ended things first; hates that Lance doesn’t owe him anything at all; hates, more than anything, that he let himself fall like he did.

But he doesn’t hate him; couldn’t ever, not at all.

And isn’t that the whole problem here?

 

 

 

When he goes back to work Lance stops by the first Monday since they had last seen each other.

Nyma was out the front, and when Keith had seen that familiar mop of hair walk in he’d ducked out of the way quickly, heart racing and guilt eating away at him.

He heard Lance ask, “Is… is Keith around?”

Nyma had looked back into the kitchen, about to say yes, but when she’d seen Keith’s desperate shaking she skillfully told Lance Keith had stepped out for an ingredients run. Lance had sounded saddened when he’d said his _okay, thanks anyway_ and the next thing Keith knew he was cornered by two very disappointed looking co-workers.

“Keith,” Allura chastised him, “What are you doing? You can’t drag him along like this.”

“She’s right,” Nyma nodded, frowning. “These kinds of things never end well, you know.”

Keith looked to the ground, running a hand over his face and knowing they’re both right.

 

 

 

He came home one day to see a package waiting by his door.

He sucked in a quick breath, somehow immediately knowing it was from Lance. With shaky hands he picks it up, taking it inside and placing it inside the closet in his hallway. He doesn’t open it; _can’t_ \-- for reasons he thinks will just about break him.

It’s like this looming punchline; this invisible presence that hangs around in his apartment—he can’t see it, won’t dare look at it, but he knows it’s there.

One day, when he gets particularly drunk specifically to drown every guilt-ridden emotion still clawing in his chest, he succumbs to the desire to know what Lance thought to leave for him to have.

He walks back to the closet, pulling the white box out and with twitching fingers he rips away the tape holding the lid closed. He lifts it up, and a pathetic sob bubbles in his throat.

Inside was a plate, from the café where Keith likes to pretend they had their first ‘official’ date. It was left plain and simple, with only the words ‘ _I’m sorry._ ’ written over the expanse of it.

God, Keith was truly pathetic.

He was a coward; he’d been a jerk, a grade-A asshole who couldn’t face his feelings—had merely poked them with a stick before turning tail and running away.

Lance didn’t deserve this; none of this was his fault.

It was Keith who’d agreed to their arrangement; Keith who had fallen so easily into Lance’s family life without meaning too; Keith who had fallen so hard, so fast it had caught him off guard, like stepping off the edge of a cliff.

He had to make this right-- even if it meant finally saying goodbye.

 

 

 

It was the next day, and he found himself in front of Lance’s door.

How long had it been? He wasn’t sure, most of the days passing by in a blur of working himself raw and drinking his consciousness stupid.

It was all so familiar, and yet so foreign.

He took one last moment to collect his nerves off the floor before knocking lightly.

A selfish part of him wished Lance wasn’t home, so he could retreat for another day and still hold on to his hopes and dreams. But when he heard movement on the other side his heart kicked into overdrive, and when Lance opens the door every planned word he’d wanted to say promptly fled.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks, but it’s a good start. He’s going to do this, and if Lance doesn’t let him inside, then he’s going to do this in the hallway, cold be damned.

“I’m sorry, and I was a total fucking asshole.”

Lance is quiet, but his eyes are wide, like he’s seeing a ghost.

“I’ll explain everything, if you’ll let me.” Keith says, wringing his hands together, his jaw trembling.

Lance looks to the ground for a moment, and then he nods once, stepping aside to grant Keith entrance.

Keith is hit with a wave of familiarity, a warmth that he's missed so much since his sudden absence.

When he hears the soft click of the door closing, he turns back around; he’s doing this, and he’s doing it _right_.

“I was scared.” He starts, and that got Lance’s attention. “I was scared, and so I ran. All my life, I’ve never been one to really think things through. Ever since I was a child, I thought avoiding problems was the easiest way-- that being honest was what hurt the most.

“So when I agreed, all those months ago, that what we were doing was just one friend helping out another friend with no conflicts of interest, I thought ‘Great, easy enough-that’s exactly what I do best’. But then somewhere along the way that came crashing down, layer by layer, and then I was caught up in everything _you_.”

Lance hasn’t moved once, his eyes never leaving Keith; they look tired and wary, but Keith trudges on.

“ _You_ , Lance—you we’re this unexpected force, this person who I thought wouldn’t come to mean as much to me as you did. It was terrifying; I hadn’t ever felt like that, and the more time that passed—it wasn’t until when we drove home after Christmas that I realized this wasn’t going to work between us.

“I hadn’t realized the day we met, or the first time I came back to your house and we drank whiskey under your mothers handmade blanket. I hadn’t realized when you kissed me under the water in the shower, or when you would remember things I mentioned I liked eating so you’d make it for me. I didn’t realize it when you invited me up to meet your family, or when we danced together, or when you kissed me awake in the morning even when my breath smelled bad.

“I realized it wouldn’t work… when I realized I wanted more.

“It was selfish of me, to act the way I did and made you think you did something wrong. But you didn’t; it was all me. I fell, Lance. I’ve fallen so hard for you and I understand if you can’t give me that—that this isn't some grand plan to win you back. I just wanted to tell you; you deserved that much.”

Lance dragged in a breath. “Keith,” his eyes were glassy, and Keith wasn’t sure what he expected Lance to say. “Keith—I want that, too.”

Keith feels like the floor is ripped out from under him, falling even harder, if possible.

“I didn’t know you felt that way or else I would have--well...” Lance sounds so genuinely sorry it makes Keith feel sick. “And it wasn’t until after you left, after you ended things between us… that I was struck by how badly I just... _missed_ you.

“I didn't realise just how constant you've been in my life until you disappeared. I mean, I took you to my favourite place in the city when I hardly even knew you. I bought sweets from your work that I didn’t even _need_ —I just gave them to Hunk. Keith I—I brought you home for _Christmas,_ you met my _family_. I’ve never done that, not with anyone.

“I’m not perfect either, Keith. I have my own problems, some you don’t even know of yet. It’s why I said for us to just be casual in the beginning. But when I was with you, all of those insecurities just sort of... went away, and – and without even knowing it I fell for you right back.”

Keith grins so big, so wide, that when his cheeks are pushed up it causes the tears pooling in his eyes to topple over.

“I love you.”

Keith hadn’t meant to let it slip, but he figured it was about time he starts being more honest—no more secrets.

Lance looks at him, the words catching him off guard. But then, like a breath of fresh air he says, “I love you, too.”

Keith’s not sure who moves first; perhaps they both do, but the space between them is suddenly gone and Keith finds Lance’s lips in a desperate kiss.

It’s familiar, it’s easy, it’s—it’s like coming _home_.

Keith concentrates on breathing through his nose, not wanting to break the kiss; not if his life depended on it. Lance holds his face like he’s something delicate and it makes Keith swoon—makes him want to bury Lance in affection and love and adoration.

Their jackets disappear, shirts and pants and underwear falling around them in a flurry of emotions and need. They come together again, and Keith’s breath hitches when he finally gets to feel Lance under his palms; warm and alive and _his_.

“I missed you,” Keith whispers, like a puzzle fitting oh so well.

“Missed you,” Lance says back, into the crook of Keith’s neck, hands roaming the expanse of his back—so completely intimate it makes Keith’s chest positively _hurt_.

They stumble to Lance’s room, taking their time; not daring to rush when it’s what they’ve both wanted for so long.

Keith tells him, “I want you--need you, Lance, _please_ ,” and Lance breathes out, “Yeah, _yeah_.”

They fall back onto Lance’s sheets, oxygen lost between them as they stay connected. Every slide of Lance’s lips over his own steals another piece of him away, like a combination to a safe slowly being unlocked.

Skin glides over skin; hands card through his hair in a way he missed so much. Keith kisses down Lance’s exposed neck, sucking greedily—it emits a beautiful moan from Lance, his name tumbling out of Lance’s lips like a prayer.

His head spins, his mind full of nothing but thoughts of _Lance_ and _finally_ and _oh god yes._ Lance’s hand finds a home at the base of his cock; long strokes making him come undone beneath him, breaking like waves near the shore. His hips cant up, needing more skillful touches, and Lance rewards him with sharp twists and pumps.

“L-lance—” he’s cut off when Lance aligns their bodies; every part of their skin touching in fluid movements.

“Keith, Keith _god_ —” Lance heaves, his eyes trailing from Keith’s face, down his chest, stopping where they’re connected by Lance’s warm hand on him.

“I thought I could wait, but—” Keith shakes his head, his resolve crumbling around him as he hurries Lance to move on.

“Okay, alright, hold on,” Lance gets up to leave, but Keith stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I—” Keith swallows thickly, “I haven’t—with anyone, I, I’m clean.”

Lance sucks in a ragged breath before he smiles, gets out, “Cool, that’s—god, this is amazing; _you’re_ amazing.”

Keith shakes his head at that; doesn’t think he deserves it yet. But Lance kisses him again before he goes to get the lube, and in the seconds he’s gone Keith allows his eyes to close, inhaling and taking everything in.

Lance comes back, and he’s so beautiful. He goes to work quickly, slicking up one finger and sliding it inside him. Perhaps it had been too long, but he was aware of every glide of Lance inside him, like he was hypersensitive all of a sudden. It burned in the most amazing way when Lance added a second.

Lance’s other hand reached up to lace their fingers together, and Keith felt the connection; the intimacy making him drunk on emotions.

He says, “Ready, ‘m ready,” and he hears Lance curse, his legs being shifted apart and then just like that Lance is there, driving on home like Keith had been waiting for weeks.

He felt fuller, somehow--flooded. Maybe it was from the time apart, or how they were rushing; but he liked to think it was the love.

Lance worked in and out, broken and rapid and making Keith break. They locked eyes, and it became so much more. Breathing grew more labored, blood thundering throughout his body. Lance came down to kiss him until his lips were swollen; until his lungs hurt like cigarettes were being put out on them.

He held on to Lance, working them both through the motions and the gasps and every desperate scratch and bite and stolen kiss. It smothered him stunningly, like he was giving himself over—opening himself up and letting Lance find a home inside.

Lance said his name again, before going impossibly faster and knocking Keith into another reality; one he had never dared to hope in feeling.

He grips Lance’s back, trying to regain some composure as he finally lost control.

He came, so blindingly, and he’s not sure what spews from his mouth as he does.

Lance doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips and angles Keith differently—and it nearly _destroys_ him. A warning is said, but Keith can’t even _hear_ it, can’t even _see_ —

Lance comes, too, and it’s a completely different experience feeling it burst inside him; raw and open and dirty.

They breathe deeply, exhaling together and Lance collapses onto him, the hot and sticky mess between them ignored. Keith wraps his arms around him; feels sweat on his forehead; groans when Lance pulls out of him gingerly.

He kisses Lance; like it’s this instinct etched into his bones, now. Lance tastes like sunshine—like everything he’s been missing this entire time.

Lance curls into his side, kissing Keith’s jaw and down to his collarbone. Shivers arise wherever he goes, and Keith is burning.

“I love you,” he says it again, because he _can_. “I love you Lance Álvarez. I’m so, so stupidly in love with you.”

Lance pauses, angling up to look at him better. His eyes are sparkling; he bites his lip, as if holding back. “I love you too, so much,” a kiss on his cheek, “So, so very much,” a kiss on his nose, “We’re going to be fine,” he whispers into his mouth before sealing the deal with a tender kiss.

Keith gives himself over-- laughing, crying, so happy and content. He lets himself get lost in the moment. He knows they'll have to talk eventually, that nothing is ever quite this easily fixed. But for now, he'll just lie here, in the arms of the man he loves so much. Tomorrow would be a new day, a fresh start; and that's all he ever wanted.

Yeah—they’ll be just fine.

 

 

 _“Other arms reach out to me,_  
_Other eyes smile tenderly,_  
_Still in peaceful dreams I see,_  
_The road leads back to you.”_

 – Ray Charles

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> man oh man  
> hit me up on [/tumblr](http://edsbrak.tumblr.com/) if you wanna x


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